Jamklok
by Shampaggin
Summary: Metalocalypse. Forget the butter, jam endorsements are where it's at! Some Nathan/Charles fun to brighten your day.


**TITLE**: Jamklok  
**AUTHOR: **Shampaggin  
**PAIRING: **Nathan/Charles  
**RATING: **T  
**SUMMARY: **Forget butter, jam endorsement is where it's at.  
**WARNINGS:** First two rows may get splattered. One naughty word.  
**NOTES:** I owe Onyx this little piece for inspiring it while I was eating breakfast one morning. I forget exactly what she said, but the upshot is, Nathan/Charles made the Rockso go away, and I finished my bagel in peace. So with utmost affection, I dedicate this to Onyx. The line about the barbed-wire fence is from American Gods, by Neil Gaiman.

Jamklok

"_It is as healthy to enjoy sentiment as to enjoy jam."  
_-GK Chesterton

Charles never knew what would hit him, the day he let Nathan endorse jam. Of course, the man was familiar with the various endorsements his boys had on the go at one time or another; as their legal counsel it was his job. This time, he realized, he should have known better.

It really was delicious. Something Charles had also not realized was how discerning his boys could be about very random things. Organic strawberries, raspberries, and just a few blackberries - for tang - a touch of orange zest, no added sugar, no animal gelatin… Never in a million years would Charles have dreamed that Nathan either knew or cared what "organic" meant, or that there was gelatin made from things other than hooves. And even hooves was a stretch; if pressed, Charles would have admitted that, quite justifiably, he had always understood Nathan not to know or care what went into his food so long as it was hot and plentiful. The kitchen staff, under Jean-Pierre, were always instructed to feed the boys what they wanted, within reason, and thus most people never understood that Dethklok did not live on crap and crap alone.

And yet…

"Nathan."

The raven-haired man merely grunted in reply.

"Nathan, this is undignified. Put me down, please."

This time, the only response was the smirk Charles just _knew_ was there, and a sharp smack on his hindquarters.

It was three days after the big release, as it were, of Dethjam - the most brutal jam around. If jam could _be _brutal, and dear reader, let us face it, jam belongs on crumpets at four o'clock in the afternoon. So why do we find ourselves peering around a corner as one Nathan Explosion carries one thoroughly irritated Charles Ofdensen, over his left shoulder, down one of the many halls of Mordhaus, swaggering like the cat who just caught the canary?

The answer is simple: Charles never knew what would hit him, the day he let Nathan endorse jam.

Three days prior, Dethjam had been released to the public and, much like Duncan Hills Coffee, met with enormous success. Already Ofdensen had had to open a fresh bottle of Advil 400 gelcaps (If word ever got out that the manager of Dethklok used Advil, chaos and yet more money would probably ensue) to mellow the migraines that developed as call after call came in for more flavours. And that was when Nathan sidled into his office.

Slowly pressing one large finger onto the speakerphone button, he growled out "He'll call you back," before gently taking the receiver and replacing it in the cradle. He then removed the receiver again and dropped it over the side of the desk, letting it dangle to the ground, picked up the smaller man, and hoisted him over his shoulder. Which more or less brings us up to speed.

Amid numerous protests, Nathan carried his prey from the office to his own bedroom. Unceremoniously dumping Charles on to his large bed, Nathan disappeared briefly into the adjoining (w)reck room, returning just as quickly with a large jar in his hands… a large jar full of a red, sticky substance.

As he was pressed inexorably into the mattress and stripped ever-so-gently, Charles hazily recalled that he had eaten toast for breakfast that morning. Perhaps he'd have toast again tomorrow.

Nathan's tugging at his shoes brought him back to earth, and Charles sat up with an easy flex of his abdominal muscles to do it for him, following with his socks and Nathan's zipper.

Nathan gave a rumbling chuckle as he noted the haste with which Charles divested him of his usual t-shirt and jeans ensemble. The fussy hands rolling the hem up a few inches, making it neater when it was pulled over his head. Seeing as this was a freeballin' kind of day, one finger traced sharply over the lines of his hips. Had Nathan not been freeballin', Charles would have traced the elastic waistband before, one finger on each side of Nathan's hips, he tugged sharply on the underpants. His nose wrinkled slightly at the scent of Nathan's socks, which he quickly tossed aside, settling back comfortably.

"Now what?" Charles queried, eyeing the vocalist with evident suspicion. Grinning like a fox eating shit from a barbed-wire fence, Nathan reached for the jam jar, twisting the lid off and crawling across the bed.

"JAMFIGHT!"

Smearing it right over Charles' shocked face, right into his dropped jaw, Nathan abandoned his jar and scuttled backwards, trying desperately to stifle his laughter. Charles' eyes narrowed. Dethklok's Manager did not just lay down and die.

"Of course you realize, this means war."

Digging his fingers into the jam, Charles hauled out a sizeable handful and flung it smack into Nathan's chest. Unlike Nathan, he kept the jar with him, a strategist to the core. Pouncing, the smaller man managed to topple his victim via the element of Surprise. Nathan's howl of shock was awesome to behold, and somehow Ofdensen, smirking, managed to rub jam into the nape of Nathan's neck, deliberately tangling it into the hair and spreading it across as much of Nathan's shoulders as he could.

Nathan turned and grasped his manager by the waist, flipping his manager over on to his stomach, and ran finger after finger full of jam up and down Charles' spine, making the man squirm and wriggle like the worm on the proverbial hook.

When their fight was over, and Charles pressed jam-stained lips to those of the Dethklok front man, Nathan noted the slight smoky taste of a cigarette and the wonderful, earthy taste of expensive whisky, and he never wanted to kiss anyone else.

After the sex, however, when endorphins were no longer sending their senses reeling, it was another matter altogether. A little goes a long way, and it had been one helluva big jar of jam. It would take two, three showers _at least_ to get it all off.

"Aw, come on. I'll make it up to you. Look, it's all over me too!"

"That's easy for you to say," came the disgruntled reply. "You're not the hairy one here!"

Nathan just laughed.

-fin-


End file.
